


Don't Hang Up

by MissCrazyWriter321



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Sleep talking, alternate season three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:27:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25863583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCrazyWriter321/pseuds/MissCrazyWriter321
Summary: “Juliette.” He swallows, running a hand over his face. “Listen, I just wanted to make sure everything was okay last night.”A deafening pause, before she answers carefully. “Last night?”“When you called me.”Again, silence. He’s starting to have a hunch, but he doesn’t want to say anything until he’s sure.“I never called you."
Relationships: Sean Renard/Juliette Silverton
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Don't Hang Up

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in an alternate Season Three. Nick and Juliette have broken up by mutual agreement, and Sean might have a tiny bit of a crush. ... Just maybe. 
> 
> It's also based off of a prompt from au-gallery via the dailyau blog on Tumblr: "You talk in your sleep, I know this because I have conversation with you, but you have no recollection of our talks."

The first time, he answers before he’s even fully awake, and panic jolts through him when he hears her voice. 

“Hello!”

He swallows, glancing at the clock. 3 AM? She can’t be calling for anything good. “Juliette? What’s wrong?”

“Such a big cat.”

... What? 

Okay, there are many different Wesen that look like cats. Obviously, she’s trying to warn him about something, or...

“Big cat. But I gave him a shot.” 

... Or maybe she’s extremely drunk? Her words do seem a little slurred, and although she doesn’t seem the type to get completely wasted on a Wednesday night, she really isn’t making much sense. “Juliette, I don’t understand what you mean.” 

She hums quietly. “He likes me. Didn’t try to scratch me or anything.” 

“Okay, I’m going back to sleep. Goodnight, Juliette.” 

If she understands his words, she gives no indication of it, just repeats, “Really big cat. But it’s okay, he likes me. He-” 

He only feels a little guilty about hanging up on her. 

-

The next day, just after lunch, he calls her. 

It takes a few rings for her to answer, and he spends most of them debating what on earth he’s going to say. A small part of him is still worried that something was really truly wrong, and he just missed her desperate attempts to signal him. But she sounded so calm; surely if something was wrong, he would have heard it in her voice.

Finally, she picks up. “Hello?”

“Juliette.” He swallows, running a hand over his face. “Listen, I just wanted to make sure everything was okay last night.”

A deafening pause, before she answers carefully. “Last night?” 

“When you called me.” 

Again, silence. He’s starting to have a hunch, but he doesn’t want to say anything until he’s sure. 

“I never called you,” she says, and her voice is just a bit wary. He understands, of course; the zaubertrank is never far from his mind, either, and he can’t deny a lingering fear that it will come back. That kind of reckless loss of control, all-consuming and overwhelming, isn’t something he’ll soon forget. 

In this case, however, he thinks something a little less nefarious is at play. 

“Check your phone. We didn’t talk long, but you definitely called me.” 

She doesn’t respond right away, and a few muffled noises tell him that she is, in fact, checking. Then- “Three in the morning? What in the world? I was asleep then.” 

“Well, that may be the case-” He’s strongly starting to suspect that it is, in fact. “But you still called me.” 

“I’m so sorry.” She sounds positively mortified. “I... When I was a kid, I used to talk in my sleep, but I totally thought I outgrew it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re okay.” Then, because he doesn’t want her to be too upset about it, he adds, “Besides, we had a fascinating chat. Something about giving a big cat a shot?” 

She snorts, and he can almost see her rolling her eyes. “Yeah, that sounds really exciting.” 

They say their goodbyes, and he sets his phone aside, a smile fighting its way onto his face. 

-

Three nights later, it happens again. 

He almost doesn’t answer, but he’ll never forgive himself if something really is wrong and he just ignores her. Ever since she and Nick broke up, he cannot help but feel like she’s in danger at every second. She’s an obvious target, after all, and while she’s quite adept at defending herself (as he himself can testify to), she is still a Kehrseite. 

“Hello?”

“Stupid.” 

Okay, definitely another sleep call. 

He almost hangs up immediately, but she seems genuinely frustrated about something; maybe she needs to let off a little steam. “Who’s stupid?” 

“Stupid people. They do stupid things, and I hafta fix them. Stupid.” 

It takes him a few moments of forced breathing to keep from laughing out loud, but finally, he replies, “What happened?” 

“Th-the thingy. It broke.” 

“What... thingy?”

“Yeah.” 

Well, this is getting nowhere. He pinches the bridge of his nose briefly, before changing tactics. “Is it fixed now?” 

She huffs. “Duh. I fixed it. Fix it. Always fix it.” 

“You’re good at that. Fixing things, I mean.” Talk about an understatement. 

“Mhmm.” Her voice is distant, and he has a feeling she’s fading. “People are stupid.” 

“Some of them,” he agrees easily. “Not you.” 

“Stupid.” 

She goes silent after that, and he hangs up, shaking his head. A grin plays at his lips; on the bright side, it’s the most interesting conversation he’s had in weeks. (Though perhaps that isn’t such a bright side for him...) 

-

The next day, predictably, she reaches out. It’s a text, not a call, but he can almost sense her embarrassment through the phone nonetheless. 

_“Phone says I called you again. Really sorry!!!”_

**_“It’s okay. We decided that people are stupid.”_ **

She sends a strange jumble of symbols that he absolutely refuses to admit that he has to Google. Apparently, they’re meant to be an annoyed face. 

A few minutes more of Googling, and he’s finally ready to reply: 

_**0:)** _

_“I retract my apology.”_

With a final chuckle, he sets his phone aside. 

-

It becomes something of a routine. Every few nights, she calls him in her sleep, and they chat until one of them runs out of steam. Logically, he knows that he should probably stop answering-or at the very least, should be annoyed-but whether she’s talking about a patient (do veterinarians have to follow HIPPA? If so, she has definitely broken her code of conduct a few times), or arguing with someone about soup (who knew she was so passionate about the right way to chop vegetables?), he cannot help but enjoy their talks. 

Sometimes, she seems to realize it’s him. Others, she’s talking to someone else, or even to herself. She never remembers the conversation after, although they often text about them the next day (he’d like to believe that his emoticon abilities are improving, but she would probably laugh in his face if he said as much). 

It’s just... He’s always liked her more than he would care to admit, and there’s something special about being the one that she calls, about getting to see this side of her when no one else does. Besides, in his world, people are rarely unguarded. Perhaps it’s unfair of him to count this, since she isn’t choosing to be that way, but at the same time, she has yet to truly try to stop it. 

After all, she doesn’t have to keep her phone by her bed. She doesn’t have to keep his number under the same name. She could put a new pass code on her phone, so that unlocking it wouldn’t be as easy in her sleep. She does none of these things. Surely, that means she doesn’t mind. 

Right?

-

“I love you.” 

He freezes, phone half against his ear, eyes not even fully open, trying to register what she has just said. This has been going on for months, and there’s certainly no denying that he has grown increasingly fond of her, but this-this is-

“You have really pretty eyes. Really pretty. Pretty.” 

-not that it would be terrible if she-well. He shouldn’t even be thinking like this, right? No matter what, she doesn’t know what she’s saying. Doesn’t know that she’s letting an obviously close-held secret out so easily. 

(She thinks he has pretty eyes? He cannot stop the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.)

He sits up slowly, grappling for words. 

“Juliette, I’m not sure-”

“And you’re such a sweetheart.” 

Now, there’s a word most people don’t use to describe him (frankly, the words they do use, he doesn’t care to repeat). He blinks, trying to process it. Is that truly what she thinks of him? Irrationally, fear curls around his chest. If she knew the things he’s done- 

“And you never, never _ever_ mess up my office!”

Wait, _what?_

“And your ears are so fluffy!” 

Realization hits him suddenly, and he groans, dropping back against his pillow. It’s not like this is the first time she’s been talking to one of her patients, but it’s the first time it’s taken him so long to figure it out. 

Maybe because it’s the first time she said _“I love you.”_

He’s grateful that he lives alone; no one can see his cheeks turn pink, can see the disappointment-yes, disappointment; there’s no denying that, at least to himself-scrawled across his face. 

He’s in so much trouble. 

-

_“So, what did we talk about this time?”_

It’s the standard question, but for once, he doesn’t have a clue what to say. He’s still struggling to come to terms with the feelings he accepted the night before. (After all, it’s one thing to accept that he’s fallen for her when he’s half-asleep, listening to her gush about a dog that he absolutely does not feel jealous of, but in the harsh light of day, all the reasons this is a bad idea are all-too clear at the front of his mind.) 

He ends up leaving the message to reply to later. Then, thanks to an unexpected case that steals all of his attention, _later_ becomes _much later;_ he doesn’t get back to it until nearly nine o’clock that night. By then, two more have joined it: 

_“It wasn’t that bad, was it?”_ And _“Seriously, I didn’t say anything awful, did I?”_

Swallowing hard, he runs his thumbs over the keyboard, trying to formulate a reply. In the end, he closes out the text and presses the “call” button instead. 

She answers on the first ring. “Hello?” She doesn’t sound quite steady. “Look, whatever I said, I’m really sorry-”

His stomach drops, and he shakes his head, before remembering that she can’t see him. “Juliette, everything’s fine,” he says firmly, and her relieved sigh sends a new wave of guilt over him. “I had a case, so I wasn’t able to get back to you before now. My apologies.” 

“Oh.” Her voice is unexpectedly small, now. 

He waits to see if she’ll say more, but instead, she simply goes quiet. (Apparently, she’s a lot more talkative when she’s not awake.) 

“You thought I was one of your patients,” he explains after an awkward pause. “A dog, I believe.” 

She laughs, but it’s shaky. “That must’ve been a weird talk.” No weirder than some of the others they’ve had. But she plows on before he can point that out. “Look, I’m sorry about... Freaking out. I’m not normally like this, I swear. I mean, I get it. Your job keeps you busy, and it’s important. I’m sorry.” 

He raises a brow, settling on his couch, shifting the phone to his other ear. “Nothing to apologize for,” he assures her, “but if you don’t normally freak out... What happened?” He keeps his voice deliberately gentle, non-accusing. But obviously something is bothering her, and he’d like to know what.

“I just...” She seems to be weighing her words. “This whole thing. I guess it’s starting to get to me, you know? We have all these conversations, and I don’t remember any of them. I don’t have any idea what I tell you, or.... If I say something I don’t mean, or I say something I _do_ mean but don’t mean to say out loud...” 

Once again, guilt tugs at his chest. All this time he’s been enjoying it, but she hasn’t had that luxury. He should have put a stop to this long ago. “Why not put your phone somewhere else? Somewhere you can’t get to in your sleep, maybe?”

Silence. He’s not altogether sure she hasn’t hung up. Then-

“Because it gives me a reason to text you.” It takes a few seconds for the words to sink in; by then, she’s already backtracking. “Look, just forget I said-”

“Do you have plans tomorrow? Say, around 7?” 

A pause. Now it’s her turn to have to process. Finally, she replies. “No?” 

“Let’s have dinner.” He hopes he sounds calmer than he feels; even with what she’s said, his heart is about to beat out of his chest with the fear that he has somehow misunderstood her. “Together.” 

“Dinner?”

“Yeah.” He can do this. He can keep breathing. It’s fine. “It sounds like we both like talking to each other; maybe we should try it more when we’re both awake.” 

Immediately, he wants to cringe at how smooth that _wasn’t,_ but her chuckle makes it more than worthwhile. 

“Dinner sounds... Really good,” she says after a moment. 

He smiles. 

-

_(Four years later...)_

“Are unicorns real?” 

He groans, turning his head, pressing his face into a pillow. He loves his wife, truly, but the last thing he wants right now is to be awake. 

After that one fateful dinner, the calls became less and less frequent; apparently, her subconscious was just trying to give them both a push. After the wedding, he quickly learned that she still talked in her sleep. Just not as often. 

Thankfully. 

“Probably,” he says after a moment. “What _isn’t_ real?” 

She hums. "Where are they?"

Okay. Endearing as she-truly-is, he hasn’t slept properly in two nights thanks to a rough case. He isn’t about to lose precious sleep now. 

Pulling her sleeping form to his chest, he presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Let’s talk about this in the morning. Hm?” Unable to stop himself, his hand settles on her belly. Sure enough, the baby is kicking, and a soft smile tugs at his lips. 

She gives a noise that sounds sort of like an agreement. At the very least, he chooses to take it that way. Then she nuzzles into his shirt, and he lets his eyes drift shut. 

“What about flying monkeys?” 

... He’ll tell her about those tomorrow. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
